


Lots of little Nothings

by AutumnHobbit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman-All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Iffy Medical Practice, Injury, Platonic Whump, Siblings, monty python references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-17 11:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17559116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: Life on the streets and life at home happen at the same time, side by side, but feel so strictly different and so shockingly the same that sometimes they’re as starkly divided as a painted line. But sometimes, they blur together like the skyline through a rainy window.or, I finally do one of those random, unconnected one-shots fics.





	1. Had enough, eh?

"Hood here, come in, Agent A," the communications line buzzed, and Alfred quickly answered it. "Present, Master Hood. What is Batman's condition?"

"We think it's stable but who the hell knows," Jason said, exasperation leaking into the tone. "He's letting Wing and Red help him, somewhat reluctantly. But he's being a total ass. Sorry not sorry," he tacked on.

Alfred sighed. "Considering the circumstances, I will not hold it against you, Master Hood." He pursed his lips as he walked towards the medical bay to prepare it for their arrival. He’d heard the undercurrent of stress in Jason’s words. “And I may even be persuaded to privately admit that I am inclined to agree with the sentiment."

Jason huffed a half-laugh, the sound echoing fuzzily in the comms. "You know him better than anyone, A."

"That I do, Master Hood," Alfred sighed, shaking his head even as he wheeled a few machines closer to the gurney, reclined the bed so it would be ready when they returned. "That I do."

"...I've gotta go," Jason said all of a sudden, more of the strain he was undoubtedly feeling leaking into his voice. "We'll be back as soon as we can. Eta thirteen minutes."

"Copy," Alfred responded, heart heavy. "I'll be waiting."

Jason disconnected the communication without another word, which left Alfred to his work. He prepared the necessary tools, retrieved a bag of Master Bruce's blood type from the fridge and attached it to an IV pole, dug out the saline and hydrogen peroxide. He washed his hands and made sure the box of sterile gloves was within reach, as well as the phone in case they wound up needing more professional help than he could provide. With that done, there was nothing to do but wait for the boys to arrive with their patient.

It was only a few more minutes before the distant rumbling of engines signaled their return, and Alfred brought the gurney out to right outside the parking spaces.

The door was thrown open, and Master Damian was the first one out, staggering a bit as he landed on his feet as he spun and held the door open. Next was Timothy, who exited a bit more slowly than his younger brother. He stood next to the door, arms raised and ready to help guide the injured party out of the vehicle. And finally, Jason slipped out of the car. Bruce's arm was draped across his shoulder, his head hanging against Jason's chest. Dick clambered out of the driver’s seat, and quickly ran to Bruce and Jason, and pulled Bruce's other arm around his own shoulders.

"Will you survive, Master Bruce, or must I retrieve the will from the safe-deposit box," Alfred asked, leaving just enough point to his question to make certain he knew what trouble he was in.

Bruce didn't respond beyond a grunt mixed with a groan. Jason snorted. "I get the Corvette."

"Uh, excuse you," Dick said, mock sassily. "He expressly promised me that car for my eighteenth birthday."

"Yeah, and you're twenty-five," Jason shot back.

"I'm pretty sure the Lamborghini is mine," Tim said brightly.

"Why did Father tell me I could have it, then?" Damian asked imperiously. Tim stuck his tongue out at him.

"Meant...for you to share it," Bruce rasped, raising his head just slightly from Jason's shoulder. "Have t'....get along if you want the car."

Silence. "Father." Damian said, sounding a mix of impressed and disgusted. "You are despicable."

"--Savage," Tim said simultaneously, and the two of them looked at each other, sputtering in surprise.

"Did you? Did you just say 'despicable?' Are you Daffy Duck?"

"The most fitting word you can conjure up is 'savage?'"

"It's a meme! I don't expect you to know it when you've just now gotten into Looney Tunes jokes. What kind of compound is Ra's running over there?"

"Hush," Bruce grunted, as Jason and Dick helped him ease down onto the gurney. "Hurts my head."

Tim and Damian both instantly closed their mouths.

"Besides," Bruce mumbled. "It makes me sad when you fight."

Jason laughed. "If you think that was a fight, you haven't been paying attention."

"That was playful banter," Dick agreed, easing Bruce's head and torso down onto the mattress.

"I...didn't mean to disturb you, Father," Damian said quietly, dipping his head a bit in shame.

"Me neither," Tim said a bit awkwardly.

Bruce huffed. "S'alright," he sighed dismissively. "m getting old, is all."

Alfred gently stepped up beside Richard, and pressed two fingers to Bruce's pulse, glancing at his wristwatch to measure the beats. Bruce lay still and blinked up at him as he did so, while Richard carefully removed the cowl, and Jason yanked his own helmet off and promptly dropped it on the floor.

"A bit irregular and thready, but mostly stable," Alfred declared after a moment, removing his hand from Bruce's neck. "Boys, if you would move him into the med bay..."

Jason and Richard didn't hesitate, Richard taking the head of the gurney to push it while Jason walked alongside and guided it in. Alfred followed, leaving Damian and Timothy behind to shower and change.

When the boys brought the gurney to a stop, Alfred bustled up alongside them and began working.With a sterile gauze and antiseptic, he began cleaning the surface abrasions and similar minor injuries. He gently wiped the blood from Bruce's forehead and cheek, while Jason cut away at the suit with a utility knife. Richard attached monitors and carefully inserted an IV into his father's arm.

The entire time, Bruce lay still and uncomplaining, blinking sluggishly up at them. Alfred suspected a concussion, and whipped a small penlight from his pocket to confirm it. Bruce cringed, a pained hiss escaping him as he clenched his blown eyes shut. Tsking, Alfred placed the light back in his pocket and donned a pair of gloves. "You are actively attempting to drive me to an early grave, aren't you," he asked, mostly to himself, carefully pressing against Bruce's neck and chest to check for injuries.

"No, Al.” Bruce mumbled. "You know that." He smiled, though it was a bit strained, his eyes still closed and face still tight with pain. "What would I do without you, anyway?"

"Heaven knows," Alfred said. Richard clicked the last connection together to set up the heart monitor, and rapid beeps immediately came from the machine. Alfred lifted his head in concern, glancing at the monitors. "Master Bruce...?"

"'M alright, Al," Bruce assured weakly. He grinned faintly, almost a grimace, and shifted one shoulder just slightly in a shrug. "...Hurts," he admitted quietly, voice thick.

Alfred sighed. "Richard, if you would please prepare the morphine pump...?"

"Already on it," Dick said, emerging from the storage closet, pushing the pole in front of him.

Alfred fixed his gaze back on Bruce, as he continued to probe him for injuries. When his hand applied deft but light pressure to one section of Bruce's ribs, Bruce's breath stuttered and the heart monitor picked up a bit.

"That one at least is definitely broken," Alfred muttered under his breath, feeling around for how extensive the damage was. Bruce's eyes were shut, and though he was trying to breathe steadily, sweat was still breaking out on his forehead. Richard finally managed to get the IV in, and he pressed the button on the pump a few times to start a dosage. Bruce finally relaxed, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly.

"What was it, Master Richard?" Alfred asked, not looking up.

"Lead pipe," Dick said, and Jason snorted.

"Still not as bad as...you with that tire iron," Bruce said, breathless but fond, tilting his chin in the direction of Jason's snort. Jason rolled his eyes, leaning his elbow on the rail of the gurney and brushing back Bruce's sweaty bangs with deft, gentle fingers.

“Sure it wasn’t. ‘Tis but a scratch,’” Jason’s voice rose in a mock British accent.

“Right. I’ll do you for that,” Dick parroted back.

“You’ll wHAT.” Jason had been pressed into service by Alfred to hold an icepack to Bruce’s side, and gave an impersonation so indignant while bent halfway over and not looking up that Bruce snorted with laughter and immediately winced. Jason immediately looked flatly at him, long-sufferingly. “What’re you gonna do, bleed on me?” he went on, dropping his gaze back to the bruised ribs he was holding the ice pack on.

“I’m invincible.” Bruce replied, in a chipper tone that drew a high, surprised noise out of Jason.

“You’re a looney.” Alfred replied calmly, reemerging from the supply drawer with gauze and medical tape. He passed his dumbfounded grandsons, who promptly dissolved into helpless laughter, and set the supplies down primly on the adjustable table, moving to start removing the top of the suit.

Beneath the loud, obnoxious yet endearing cackling of the boys, Bruce glanced up warily, with the same hesitant expression he’d had as a misbehaving child. “You okay, Al?” He asked, in the same way he used to ask, are you mad at me.

“Of course, sir,” Alfred replied solemnly, prying the top panel off the uniform and setting it down next to the gurney. “Simply....weary of your city returning you to me like this.”

Bruce watched him studiously for a moment, doubtless trying to gauge his honesty, before slowly transitioning to sheepishness upon finding it. “It...has its issues,” he hedged.

“Understatement of the century.” Alfred sighed.

Jason, unsurprisingly, was the first to clamber up from the floor and his overblown hysterics, using Dick’s head as a crutch. “Al,” he wheezed, slightly breathless, “never change.”

Alfred arched an eyebrow. “I should hope not, Master Jason.”

Dick scrambled to prop an elbow against the floor and promptly flipped from there onto his feet, and enthusiastically wrapped a limp Bruce in an unhesitating hug. “And you never change, either.”

Bruce smiled a small but warm smile and tipped his head against his oldest’s arm in reply.


	2. Out for the evening (Bruce & Jason & Steph)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon said: if you're still taking requests... Steph (or Jason) in injured, Alfred is out and Bruce is the only one around...

Bruce really hated being grounded. That was all he could think about as he sat at the computer desk, only barely restraining himself from fuming as he watched over his children while they patrolled all on their own. They'd done it a million times,  _ he'd _ done it a million times, but it never ceased to put a knot in his stomach and a slight misstep in his pulse. Though he had to admit grudgingly that Alfred was right; his foot was just this side of useless, still in a brace and barely capable of holding half his weight for more than a few seconds. That didn't mean he was happy about it. He could barely even enjoy the cobb salad Alfred set in front of him three hours ago...which was a shame, because Alfred made a damn good cobb salad. 

Everything seemed to be going alright, despite his misgivings. Dick and Damian were progressing efficiently and safely thus far, Tim and Cass were only slightly behind them. Bruce knew he wouldn't really relax until they were all safely home and in their beds, but he hoped he could convince himself to relax enough to at least enjoy the tea Alfred had brought. 

He should have known better, because no sooner had he gotten settled and taken the first sip when there was a roar of a motorcycle, and he was half-standing by the time it rumbled in and parked, two figures slumped down over the handlebars, barely managing to fit by the looks of them. The boy on the front hopped off a little stiffly, but immediately ducked down to scoop the other rider up and support them as they stumbled towards the stairs. When Bruce saw the blonde hair peeking out of the cowl, his heart dropped. 

"Stephanie?  _ Jason?" _ He asked, half limping at an unhealthy pace towards them. He hadn't heard from Jason in  _ months, _ had half-assumed the boy was gone on another trip with his Outlaws, and Stephanie he hadn't spoken to in perhaps even longer. She had been working with Oracle instead of with him ever since... _ ever since, _ but he hadn't heard so much as a  _ whisper _ about her. And now she and Jason were here, and it was evident that Stephanie was hurt. Which made his throat tighten and his heart thrum with panic, made visions of her hand going slack and the monitor screeching fill his ears. 

"I'm f'ne," Stephanie gritted out, arm wrapped tightly around her ribs as she limped. 

"She's not," Jason half-snapped back, breathless from exertion as he climbed the stairs. Bruce had no doubt he'd half-carried her all the way here. 

When had they become friends? How had he missed it?

Dismissing the half-hurt thoughts with a toss of his head, Bruce ducked on Stephanie's other side and grasped her upper arm to help support her, being careful not to displace the arm she had clamped around her ribs as he helped Jason whisk her into the med bay. Jason led towards the closest gurney, and Bruce followed his lead, cautiously supporting Stephanie from the side and easing her torso down as Jason took a knee beside the bed and gently lifted her legs onto the mattress. Stephanie couldn't quite stifle a sharp intake of breath married with a groan at the movement, which made Bruce's throat close again. 

"What happened?" He asked, carefully but quickly dropping to one knee, himself. Triage protocol said that he should find out what exactly he was dealing with before taking any action, but he wasn't exactly eager to force Stephanie to do anything. 

"Baseball bat to the ribs. Twice," Jason panted from the other side of the room, hard at work as he tugged machinery over towards them and madly ransacked Alfred's supply storage. Bruce decided Jason had everything under control and that he himself would not be much use since he couldn't move very quickly, and turned his attention back to Stephanie.

Her eyes were clenched shut, hair half-falling over her face, her breaths rapid and shallow and pained with an abnormal wheeze in them. Bruce flinched at the pain-lines in her forehead, and laid a gentle thumb on top of them, stroking almost feather-light, irrationally afraid of hurting her. On a sudden impulse, he tugged her cowl off and dropped it onto the floor beside him. "Stephanie. It's me. I need to see how bad it is. Will you let me? Can you move?"

Steph kept gasping for air, but when Bruce lightly pulled on her arm, it let loose with little resistance. He quickly tugged his knife from his pocket and flipped it open. "I'm going to cut your uniform, Stephanie. Just lie still and I promise I won't hurt you." Brow creasing in concentration, he carefully slid the knife into the kevlar material and dragged it to cut a patch out. He withdrew the knife and carefully pried the cut piece off.

He could barely restrain a full-body flinch at the sight of swollen, black and purple skin, definite broken bones. It was too close to last time, too close to her bloodied and barely-recognizable in a hospital bed, and he hadn't ever wanted this to  _ happen  _ again, damnit, that was  _ why _ he'd sworn off having a Robin, and he'd never meant to hurt her but somehow he had and—

Jason staggered past him, tossing an oxygen mask at Bruce, who caught it belatedly. Snapped out of his memories and back to the reality of the struggling girl on the bed beside him, Bruce called, "Jason, get me a stethoscope!"

It took the boy a few seconds to dig around, but he finally threw one across the room to Bruce, who grabbed it out of midair and immediately put it on, fumbling to yank out his knife again and cut a separate patch where he wouldn't be hurting Steph. He wrapped his fingers around the diaphragm for a moment to warm it a bit, then carefully pressed it to her side. Her breathing sounded fast and heavy, but not horribly distressed, which was good. Her heart was fast but steady, which was even more relieving. Removing the stethoscope, he reached over and paused. "Stephanie. I'm going to try and see how bad the break is."

Her side tensed up a bit, but she nodded harshly, biting her lip, her eyes still clenched shut. 

Setting his jaw, Bruce carefully laid his fingertips on the bruised skin, and very gently applied pressure, trying to feel for any give. Stephanie hissed and tensed, her breath stuttering a bit. Bruce flinched, but kept feeling along the length of her rib. He came across a bit of give and she gulped in a shaky wheeze. Alright, there was definitely a break there. More careful examination revealed that it hadn't punctured her lung; at least, that he could tell. He kept going and found three more breaks in two ribs. Nothing seemed to have punctured, though, which was good. Jason had at some point whisked some ice and a syringe of painkillers to the bedside table, and Bruce carefully selected a spot and injected Stephanie with the syringe. She gulped and tensed but then relaxed a few moments later. "Better," she sighed.

"Good," Bruce said, feeling as exhausted as she sounded. He glanced up at the clock—it was around two, the others should be finishing up soon—and then a thought occurred to him and he glanced around the room in confusion. Empty except for himself and Stephanie.

Where had Jason gone? 

Had he angered him somehow? He worried instantly. He hadn't acted particularly mad, but that didn't mean anything. Glancing at Stephanie once more to confirm that she was alright, Bruce steeled himself and slowly climbed to his feet to go look for Jason—

And saw him sprawled out on the floor in front of the chest of supplies, unmoving.

"Jason!" Bruce was dimly aware it was a roar, he hadn't intended to be quite so loud, but then he was limping heavily but quickly as he could manage over to Jason. He skidded to a stop, bashing his knee as he dropped down and rolled Jason onto his back. The boy's head lolled, but he remained still and unresponsive. Bruce frantically peeled back leather and cloth, searching for any explanation for Jason's collapse. He ran a hand beneath Jason's jacket and his hand came away glistening red. 

_ "Shit," _ Bruce breathed, grabbing for Jason's jacket and peeling it back to reveal a large bloodstain spreading across his side, starkly visible on his white undershirt. 

“Bruce?” Stephanie asked from the gurney, worry creeping into her voice. 

“Steph, did you know he was hurt?” Bruce asked urgently, tugging Jason’s shirt up to get a closer look. It looked to be a bullet wound, just under his ribs, but there was so much blood that Bruce couldn’t really see how bad it was. 

“No—“ he heard rustling and glanced up to see Steph pulling herself to a half-sitting position, one hand holding her oxygen mask steady, her face contorted. 

“No, Steph, don’t—“ Bruce stammered, fumbling a bloody hand towards her. “Just.” He jammed the back of his hand against his mouth and clenched his eyes shut, trying to think.

“Bruce.” Steph said, and her voice was trembling very slightly, but calm. “Bruce, take a breath. You need to put pressure on it, and check his vitals.”

Bruce nodded shortly, eyes still closed. “Yes. I’ll...yes.” He blinked stinging eyes back open, brown and green quickly giving way to the sickening shades of red, and he grabbed for the open drawer of the chest and yanked out a wrapped roll of gauze. He tore the plastic clumsily and unrolled a length of gauze, wadding it up and pressing down hard over the bloody hole in Jason’s abdomen. Jason’s entire body tensed just a bit, and his breathing stuttered. 

“Jason?” Bruce tried calling his name, just in case the pain had brought him around enough to hear it. The boy shifted his head weakly and moaned, but stilled again. Bruce swore quietly and reached beneath Jason, feeling for an exit wound in his back. Sure enough, there was one; his fingers came back bloody. How it had stayed contained up in his jacket this whole time, Bruce had no clue. Had Jason even known he’d been shot? Maybe the bullet had been stuck in the jacket, like a cork in a bottle? 

He needed to move him, needed to clean the wound up and check it for any vital damage, needed to stitch it or...something. But for whatever reason he couldn’t seem to make himself do it.

_ “Bruce,” _ Steph said, the hissing of the oxygen tank coming back into focus, and he dimly realized she’d said it more than once.

“Sorry,” he said back, shaking his head. He refocused on Jason’s limp body and slid a careful arm beneath his shoulders, and another beneath his knees. He lifted, and Jason’s head went back and an agonized cry escaped him. It wasn’t really that loud, all things considered, but it hit Bruce with enough force that it could have been an outright scream, and Stephanie looked pale and shaken, as well, staring at the two of them from her gurney while Bruce carried Jason to the bed next to her. 

He set Jason in the bed as quickly and gently as he could manage, and then moved to press two fingers against his throat. His heartbeat was a little unsteady but otherwise didn’t seem too distressed, and Bruce exhaled raggedly in relief. He shifted the gauze and tried to mop up the corresponding gush of blood. The hole was relatively clean, and he already knew it had gone through. Another quick look at the exit wound told him it was a more or less straight trajectory, no angling to the shot. That was a relief, at least. But why was it bleeding so much? Had it torn something? So far as he could see, there was no torn blood vessel or anything of the sort. He realized it must have been this much blood simply because the wound was fresh. Jason and Stephanie had only gotten to the cave a little over twenty minutes ago. He must have somehow been shot on the way back.

Bruce reached for more gauze, but realized that his hands were bloody, and made a face. Reluctantly, he left Jason’s side to quickly wash his hands with scalding water and put on gloves. He hurried back and opened the packets, folding a length into a thick pad, and pressed it hard against Jason’s side. He did his best to ignore Jason’s choked gasp and was midway through taping the gauze down when Jason said, “Mother _ fucker.” _

Bruce glanced up, unsure of whether it had been directed at him or a general statement. Jason’s eyes were clenched shut, and sweat was beading on his face. 

“I know, Jason. I’m sorry. Hold still. I’ll get this done as fast as I can,” Bruce told him, pursing his lips and continuing on. He had to lift Jason so he was lying on his side to get at the exit wound, and Jason grunted at him when he moved him. 

“Sorry,” Bruce said again. He took another square of gauze and taped it down. “There.” He gently grasped Jason’s shoulder and settled him onto his back again.

“Fucking hell,” Jason groaned, pale. His eyes flicked halfway open after a moment, and they were dark and hazy. Bruce swallowed as Jason reached a slightly-weaving hand to rub at his eyes. “What happened?” he muttered after a moment, sounding disoriented and listless. 

Bruce swallowed hard and stifled the urge to stroke his hair back. “You collapsed. It looks like you were shot.”

“Hmm?” Jason sounded genuinely surprised. His other hand fumbled, coming up from the mattress and feeling along his side. When he found the gauze with slightly trembling fingers, he made a face. “What the hell. Who the sam fuck shot me while I was driving?”

“What about that guy you almost ran over?” Steph piped up.

“I  _ woulda _ run over his ass if he hadn’t  _ moved,” _ Jason grumbled sourly, shifting in a vain attempt to get comfortable. “Would serve him right, but I was busy. Although…” he sounded thoughtful. “I bet you’re right. I’d thought I’d just whacked myself on the bike when we landed.”

He seemed to register who was talking and glanced over sideways at Steph, taking in the oxygen mask. “You doin’ okay?” He asked, soft.

“Yeah,” she nodded quickly, with only a half-wince. She was still holding the mask on with one hand, and it was all fogged up. 

Bruce exhaled roughly. Adrenaline crashes were not his favorite thing to go through, despite their being near-constant for most of his life. Sometimes he’d irrationally thought the mechanism for adrenaline would eventually break from overuse in his brain. Unfortunately it hadn’t happened yet. Both Jason and Steph glanced sidelong at him, and then glanced at each other, and Bruce could read the confusion and uncertainty and hesitance in both of their eyes. 

It made his stomach hurt. 

He swallowed and cleared his throat, and carefully got up. His foot was beginning to remind him that it was very much not healed and he wasn’t supposed to be moving on it like he had been. “I’ll, uh. Jason probably needs...fluids or...something.”

He didn’t make it halfway across the room before his foot gave out on him and he staggered and went down hard one one knee for the second time that evening.

“B!” It was only a split-second before the alarmed cry and hands on his shoulder, grabbing under his arm and hauling him up, muscles shaking but not giving out. Bruce looked up into Jason’s pale, scared face and his heart clenched. “No, Jay, you shouldn’t—“ He lost whatever he was going to say, staring fixedly at the bloodstained gauze patch. 

Jason shook his head in frustration, and hauled Bruce by his arm back over towards the gurneys. He was grunting and panting from the effort, his legs shaking just as badly as his arms and his hands, but he made it back over and fumbled to unlock the bars. His fingers were clumsy and Bruce reached down and undid the latch for him, shifting the bars down. Jason promptly dropped down onto the bed and rolled slightly, chest heaving and face drawn. But he grabbed Bruce’s arm with surprising strength and pulled him so he was seated on the edge of the bed. 

“Jason,” Bruce gritted, immediately hovering over him, checking the patch. More blood was spreading beneath it. His fingers twitched helplessly over it. 

“‘M not gonna,” Jason wheezed out,  _ “die _ before the ‘thers get back, Br’ce.” His hand dropped onto his chest and he lay there, gulping air. “You sit. W’ll wait.” 

Bruce pulled his hand back, set it against the bed frame. He...he had to get up, get Jason oxygen, fluids, something—

“Dad,  _ please.” _ Jason’s voice broke, whether from pain or desperation, Bruce didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. 

He slumped. It was over, and he knew it. 

Stephanie was watching them silently, and she tugged off her oxygen mask.

_ “Steph,” _ Bruce choked on her name.

“It’s okay,” she said, and her voice only whistled a little. She grabbed for the spare mask attachment on the table beside her and clumsily fitted it to the still-hissing tube and held it out to Bruce, over Jason. Bruce could still barely reach it, even leaned over. “We’ll share ‘t. It’ll be fine.” 

So Bruce nodded, and he tried to show her exactly how much he appreciated it, how much it meant to him that she would do this, for him and for Jason. He wasn’t sure how well he succeeded, because she ducked her chin and blinked shining eyes hard. He was never sure whether he was helping or harming. He wanted it to be help. He hoped it was. 

He gently reached down and cupped Jason’s face with one hand, tilted it over from where he’d wound up sprawled with his head to the side, closed eyes facing Stephanie. With his other hand he carefully pressed the mask against Jason’s face and held it there. After a moment, Jason’s eyes flicked open just a bit, and he looked up at Bruce, blearily but calmly, and didn’t push back or pull away. He shut his eyes again. Bruce gently threaded his fingertips up into the edges of his hair. 

So they sat together in the empty Cave. Every ten minutes or so, Bruce passed the oxygen mask back to Stephanie, and after the first instance that she gave it back after only a few breaths, insisted she keep it on for at least five minutes. 

That was where the others found them when they came back in from patrol. Stephanie had fallen asleep, and Jason was half-conscious. Bruce was still sitting on the edge of Jason’s gurney, gently brushing his bangs back from his eyes. 

  
  



End file.
